What You're Risking Your Life For
by MostTulip
Summary: Ned Stark does not reach the Tower of Joy before Lyanna Stark gives birth. To protect their future king, the three Kingsguard decide to take Jon Targaryen across the Narrow Sea, so he may be raised with his aunt and uncle. They want to get back. But as they learn, Westeros is not easy to reach. And there are other challenges they must face, if they want to return home.
1. Arthur I

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All rights to George R. R. Martin and HBO.**

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><p>The Stark girl was bleeding out. Something had gone wrong with the childbirth. Arthur Dayne was not maester, but it did not take a maester to figure that out. They only had Tera, an midwife from Sunspear. This was something Rhaegar had not considered in his mad plan: the girl might not be able to live long enough to become his queen. A scream broke him out of his thoughts, and he remembered why it was he was in this room. Nothing in his vows required him to stay here; she was Rhaegar's wife, yes, but her son had been born and he was their king now. If he had been any other man, he might have left the girl who had made the realm bleed. But that was unfair; he loved Rhaegar, as a king, as a brother, but Rhaegar was mad. His prophecy had driven him to war, and his love for this Stark girl had driven him to lock her away in here. No, he was staying because her brother was still miles away, the other two were guarding their tower, and right now, he was her only friend.<p>

Arthur knelt down beside her, and her hand clutched his instinctively. Even as she died, her grip was strong. It was a shame such strength had been born to a girl. If she had been a man, she could have been one of the greatest knights in the realm. But the gods had a sick sense of humor and had cursed her to a life of dresses, courtesies, and betrothals. It was because of this the war had begun in the first place. Her father had tried to control her, restrain her, and had given her to the one man most unfit to do that: Robert Baratheon.

His blood boiled when he thought of that oaf. Robert Baratheon had loved his Lady Lyanna, truly he had. But as they had all learned in their time in this tower, he was in love with a dream. Lyanna Stark was not a lady, was not meant to wear pretty dresses and giggle and be obedient and good. She was fierce - a she-wolf - and in some ways, was more like Robert than a lady. Both of them fought for what they wanted, were stubborn beyond compare, and were blinded by their own wants. Robert by his love, Lyanna by her urge for freedom. Perhaps, if her father had put more thought into things, none of this would have happened.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice weak. She didn't have long, only a few minutes at best. From outside the room, her son's wailing could be heard. A weary smile crossed her face. "Let me see him. Let me hold my son."

Maybe before all this, had she asked that of him, he would have denied her. The King must be taken far from here. He is no longer your concern. But no matter where he stood before, he couldn't deny her this. He called to Tera, who was holding the poor child, and she entered. The baby was swaddled in Arthur's own white cloak. There had been little else to use, and it was old anyway. He wouldn't need it where they were going, besides. She passed him the child, who continued to cry out, and he in turn passed him to Lyanna.

Almost as soon as the child was in her arms, he quieted down. She was his mother, after all. Of course he would find comfort in her. She shushed him, rocking him slowly, back and forth. She was weak, and Arthur was surprised she was managing to hold onto the child. He had no name yet, having only been born some hours ago. They would need a name for their king. It only seemed right that his mother, who he would never know, should be the one to decide.

"Is he here? Has he come?" There was no need to clarify who she meant. Ser Barristan had taken only a small part in all of this, but he was their brother and their friend, even if he was no longer a part of their Kingsguard. When he learned that Lord Eddard Stark was going to Dorne to search for his sister, Barristan had immediately sent a raven. He had no way of knowing that the rightful king was with them, so he only warned them. Leave, his letter had read, save yourselves while you still can. Eddard Stark may not kill you, but Robert Baratheon surely will. Go, my brothers. Go across the Narrow Sea, if you wish. Serve Queen Rhaella and protect her children. The war has been won and there is nothing that can be done about that. I pray that one day, you will forgive me.

There was nothing to forgive Barristan Selmy for. He was an honorable man, a knight of valor. If his king was dead, he would do his duty and protect the next. That was who he was. He had no way of knowing that his next king was here, with them. One day, Arthur hoped they could tell him and that he could join them in their fight for the son of Rhaegar.

"No. Lyanna, I'm sorry. He has not come." It might have been that which had kept her alive for so long. Tera said that she should have died hours ago, not long after the child was born. But Lyanna was nothing if not a fighter. She had fought for her right to be free. She had fought to bring her child into this world. She had fought to see her brother. Now, though, there was not enough time for her to fight any longer. She couldn't hold on forever, and Eddard Stark was still a long ways away.

She gripped his arm, pulling him closer to her. There was desperation in her eyes. She knew that it was almost over, too. Rhaegar was dead, had been killed at the Trident. Aerys had been killed by Ser Jaime, a crime they could not entirely fault him for. Elia and her children had been murdered by Tywin Lannister and his men. Rhaella was across the sea, hopefully kept safe by Ser Willem Darry. All that remained now was her and the three there and her son. Her son who had not been named.

"Promise me," she began, stopping to swallow hard and stop the tears, "promise me you'll look after my son. Protect him, save him, serve him. Please, do not let Robert kill him. Whatever my crimes, whatever my faults, do not blame them on him. Please."

He felt these words had been more prepared for her brother than him. She was asking him to do something that was already his duty. She knew he would have carried this out, regardless if she had asked for it. But she was dying, and a dying mother was allowed to have some wishes for her children. He held her hand that was on his arm. "I promise you, on your old gods, on the Seven, on the Red god across the sea, and the others too. By all the gods, I promise you I will protect your child until my last day."

Lyanna smiled, and the last of her energy left her. She sagged back against the pillows, looking exhausted. "I had hoped to see Ned before this. I guess this is my punishment for all I have done. I will not see my brother and my son will not know me." She let out a humorless laugh. "It is not nearly enough recompense for all that has happened, but it hurts enough that I suppose the gods do not care."

"My lady, my queen," for Rhaegar had married her before he left, "you cannot leave us yet. Not yet." Her eyelids were beginning to droop. He knew that if she slept now, she would never wake from it. "Lyanna, please, do not leave yet. Your son needs a name. Let him have one last gift from his mother."

That did it. Her eyes opened wide, and there was a surprised look in them. It was almost like she had forgotten to take her shoes off in bed rather than name her son before she died. Arthur had taken the boy back, afraid that in her weakening state, Lyanna might drop him. With his help, she held him for the last time. She looked at his face, at his tuft of dark hair and his grey eyes. He would look more like his mother than his father.

"Jon," she finally murmured, so low that Arthur had to lean in to be sure he heard right.

"Jon," she repeated more firmly. He nodded. Rhaegar may have declared that was not a name for a Targaryen - Aerys, too - but neither of them were here now. Jon would fit him better, anyway. He had the appearance of a northerner. A name like Jaehaerys or Daemon might have seemed strange on him.

"Jon," Arthur agreed. The boy fussed in his arms, and he thought how the boy would never be held by his mother again. It brought an ache to his heart. Hadn't there been enough death and suffering from this war and Rhaegar's accursed war? Weren't there enough orphaned boys out there, that had no one? Did the gods have to add another to that list? Were they punishing the boy - Jon - for a crime his parents had committed and not he himself? Or were the gods just cruel like that?

Her grip was slackening, her fingers slipping away. "Arthur," she breathed, voice little more than a whisper. Desperately, he reached for her hand. It was futile; he was trying to hold onto her life, to keep her there with him. Maybe they weren't the best of friends. Maybe she wasn't Ashara and he wasn't Eddard. But for almost a year, she'd been his only friend beside Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, and he hers. By the gods, he couldn't just let her go without a fight.

"Please, tell . . . tell Ned I'm . . . I'm sorry for . . . all that has . . . happened . . . and the truth . . . and that I . . . I love him . . . so much . . ." With a final sigh, she let her head fall back. The light that had once glowed so brightly in her eyes, the light that had been her will to live and fight, burned out. Only darkness and an empty feeling was left. She was no longer a lively girl that was too young to die. She was now just a corpse, just another story to be told.

He began to weep. How could he not? It was all too much. Rhaegar had been his friend, and now he was gone. His mistakes had brought war to the realm, and so many had payed for it. He held a baby in his arms that wouldn't know its mother or father, would spend most of its life running from shadows. Before him was the body of a girl that had not deserved all this pain, that had only been looking for freedom. It wasn't fair. None of it was.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, holding her lifeless hand and her child, who cried now. He was only broken out of his tears when he felt a firm and gentle hand on his shoulder. Looking away from the girl, he stared up into the eyes of Ser Gerold Hightower. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's eyes were filled with sadness; Lyanna had been his friend, albeit a short time, too. She was not to be blamed for Rhaegar's mistakes.

"She's-she's," he tried to say, but couldn't bring himself to. Ser Gerold only nodded. He knew. He understood. His hand hadn't left Arthur's shoulder. He was looking down at the baby now, a silent question on his face. "Jon. His name is Jon."

"A good northern name. He will be a good king," Gerold promised, though there was that unspoken thought in there. They'd believed Rhaegar would be a good king, and look what had happened. They could only pray that between themselves and the gods, Jon Targaryen would not take after his mother. "We need to leave soon," Gerold continued. "We're going to have to find passage to Essos. That's where we'll find Ser Willem."

Arthur nodded, not wanting to speak. There wasn't anything to say, really. Their brief princess, or queen, or whatever Lyanna had been was gone now. They had an infant king, a boy prince, and another baby to protect. And mayhaps a Queen Regent, too. They had to leave Westeros, if they were to protect their king. The Tower of Joy had served them well during the war. But it wouldn't be long before someone found them and Robert Baratheon came looking for the boy. They couldn't hide here forever, and the Tower was no place to raise a child.

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><p>They'd left a note for Ned Stark, as well as Tera and the body of Lyanna Stark. Arthur prayed it would be enough, prayed it would keep Lord Stark from pursuing them. Lyanna had sworn that her brother was not like Robert Baratheon. He hoped she was right. It may have been unwise, leaving the only woman they had at the tower. The three of them took turns holding Jon, feeding him from the goatsmilk they carried. It would run out soon, but thankfully, they were only a day away from Starfall. Home, he thought to himself.<p>

He had not seen Ashara since the Tourney of Harrenhal. She had been Elia's friend and had stayed with the Princess through it all, faking the anger and rage at Rhaegar's actions. Elia had not been mad, not like Rhaegar. But she had understood he needed to complete this prophecy, needed to have a Visenya for his Aegon. She was unable to give him any more children. So rather than grow angry by it all, she had helped them.

When Rhaegar decided he wanted Lyanna Stark to be his second queen, the mother of his Visenya, she had given him her protests: the girl was too young, she was betrothed, she wanted freedom, it would anger the Starks. Rhaegar had not listened to her, and maybe he should have. Elia's protests had died away, and instead of complaining about it, she sent them Tera, gave them the Tower of Joy. She even wrote to Lyanna, providing her with another friend. She had been the reason why Oberyn had not marched off to the Tower of Joy immediately to kill Rhaegar and throttle Lyanna. Elia Martell was stronger and more intelligent than anyone ever gave her credit for. And now she was dead.

Ashara had done her part, too. She'd given them shelter at Starfall on their way, had spoken with Lyanna and done all she could to help the young she-wolf. It was more than just helping out her friend; Arthur's sister was hopelessly in love with Ned Stark. The two had kissed at the Tourney, she had told him. They'd promised to marry one another after consuming rather too much wine. And when word reached them that he had married Catelyn Tully to gain Hoster Tully's support in the war, her heart had broken.

His sister would hold no ill will towards the child. If anything, its Stark looks would help to ease her heartache. Maybe they could take her with them. There wasn't much left for her. She would be forced to marry some other lord, would have to leave her home. She could never inherit Starfall, and never have Ned Stark. Maybe their mission could give her another purpose.

The road was dusty, the sun hot. Their armor was wearing them down. When they stopped, it wasn't for very long. They didn't know what Ned Stark would choose to do. They had to keep moving. Little Jon was asleep, resting in the crook of Arthur's arm. His white cloak still covered the boy protected his skin from the sun. That was what he did most of the day; he would eat, sleep, and cry. By now they had gotten used to the cycle.

"Up ahead," Ser Oswell called out, his voice dull and raspy from the road. They didn't speak much between one another, as there wasn't much to speak about. Arthur raised his head from where he had been gazing down at Jon, and a smile lit his face. Starfall was just as he remembered, majestic and beautiful and home. He hadn't been there in years, having served in the Kingsguard for many.

As they neared, riders rode out to approach them. They stopped some feet away, shouting, "Halt!"

Arthur was tired and sore and irritable from the long journey. So were the others. Rather than kindly greet them and ask for shelter, he called out to them, "Step aside you fools. Do you not recognize a Dayne when you see one?"

"Ser Arthur?" They asked incredulously, their faces ones of shock and surprise. No one had heard of the fate that had befallen Ser Arthur Dayne and his two brothers in the war. It was as if they had seen a ghost.

"Yes," he snapped, "now are you going to make myself and my fellow Kingsguard here wait in the sun, or will you move so we may enter Starfall?"

The men quickly moved aside, giving hurried, "Yes, Ser," and "Sorry, my lord." He didn't have the time nor strength to correct those who called him lord. Instead, he and the other two urged their horses forward and entered Starfall.

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><p>Arthur embraced Ashara once they were alone in her room. Jon was sleeping on the bed, having been fed milk from the wetnurse, Wylla, and taken care of. He and Gerold and Oswell had been given food and water and rooms to stay in. They would leave soon, probably in the next day or two, so Arthur made sure to spend a little time with his sister before they left.<p>

"Oh brother, I heard about Rhaegar on the Trident. Robert Baratheon sits the throne now. What will you do?" Her eyes were sorrowful, though they held some joy at being reunited with him again. She had lost so much. He had learned that Brandon Stark had taken her maidenhead at the Tourney of Harrenhal, and left her with a bastard in her belly. The baby, a girl named Allyria, had died not long after birth. And on top of that, Ashara's best friend, Elia, had been brutally raped and murdered along with her own children.

"We are going to take the true king and raise him with his grandmother." He could trust Ashara. Even if her loyalties were not to Elia, she would never betray her own kin.

"Of course, only . . ." she trailed off, a look of regret coming onto her face.

"What, sister? What is it? Has something happened?" Could the gods punish them even more? Had Robert Baratheon found them? Killed them? Smiled at the bodies of little Viserys and the baby that had yet to be born?

She bit her lip, and he saw the pity in her gaze. "Brother, the Queen Regent . . . word reached us that she died birthing her daughter, Daenerys Targaryen. Only Viserys and Daenerys live."

Arthur stepped away as if slapped. The Queen Regent was dead? He ran a hand through his pale hair, shocked to the core. Another orphan child. Like Jon, this Daenerys would grow never knowing her mother or father. The gods were cruel.

"So it's true?" Ashara asked, standing next to where Jon lay. She brushed his cheek with her thumb. "This is the new king? Your new king?" There was no hate in her voice, as he had known, only weary resignation. Of course she would be saddened by the sight; she had only just lost her own child.

"Yes. His name is Jon."

"He looks like Ned," she murmured, more to herself than him. She spoke again, this time directly to him. "Did you see Ned? Did he come to the Tower?"

He shook his head. "No. Lord Stark was on his way, but Lyanna had already died and we were not sure where his loyalties lay."

"You could have trusted him. He would have done nothing to his sister's child." He had suspected as much, though he couldn't be certain.

"Sister," he said, taking her hands in his. "Will you come with us? Jon needs someone to care for him. Daenerys too. I know you have lost your own child, but we could use you." When she turned her head away at the mention of her daughter, he cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes back to his.

"I can't, Arthur. I just- I just don't know anymore." She sat down on the bed, resting her head in her hands. "We have lost so many. I don't know if I can truly deal with this anymore. First Rhaegar, then Elia and sweet Rhaenys and little Aegon. Now Lyanna and Allyria. I just don't know anymore," she repeated, shoulders shaking as she began sobbing. Her words should not have affected him so, but there was something hidden behind them. There was some meaning that he wasn't catching on to. With a start, he realized what it was.

He backed away now, fearful of the truth. She-she couldn't. No, not his sister. She wouldn't. "Ashara, you're not saying-"

"I am!" She screeched, jumping to her feet. The noise had woken Jon, who began crying. Neither of them could spare him a thought, so caught up were they in this sickening realization. "I can't do it anymore! Everyone's gone. They'll give me away, sell me to someone else. I understand why Lyanna ran. I do now. I can't love anyone besides Ned and now's he's gone. I don't have Elia to rely on, to give me strength. I don't have her children to give me happiness and I don't have my own to care for! And you're going to leave me too. You're going to leave me for the king that brought this all upon us! You're going to leave me to protect the cause of so much bloodshed and war!"

Her face was red and tears ran down her cheeks. Arthur could only stare at his sister, unable to move. Gods, she was really thinking about it. She would really do it. All of a sudden, the anger left her. Ashara's shoulders drooped and she seemed barely able to hold herself upright. Jon was still crying, and now she heard him. Walking slowly over to the bed, she picked him up, cradling him to her chest. After her outburst, Arthur put a hand on his sword pommel, afraid his sister might try something.

She waved her free hand dismissively. "Do not worry, brother. I won't hurt him. It's unfair to blame him, I know. He wasn't even born when this all started. But I meant what I said. I can't do this anymore. I love you brother, I do. You have purpose in this world. You have him to protect, to raise, and the other two as well. You have a king to serve. There is nothing for me."

Carefully, she held Jon out to Arthur. Tentatively, Arthur took the baby. He could not stop himself from shielding the baby slightly. This was not the sister he knew. She saw his action, but there was no hurt in her eyes. Only a small, sad smile twitched at her lips before it disappeared.

"Go, Arthur. Raise your king. Bring the rightful rulers back to Westeros. But do not try to stop me. There is nothing you can do to make me feel better. No one can. I'm sorry, Arthur. I truly am. I love you."

Arthur began to cry, and so did she. They both knew it was true. Nothing could be done to stop her. It was her choice. Arthur had reason to remain. She did not. And as much as he loved his dear, sweet, caring sister, he couldn't stop her. So he cried, and let her hold him. He let her scent wash over her, let the feeling of her arms be burned into his skin, for after they left, he would never feel it again.

"I'm sorry, brother," she whispered against his hair, placing a soft kiss against it. He weeped, almost as much as he did when Lyanna died, for this would be the last time his sister would ever embrace him.

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><p>They left two days later, taking a ship from the Sea of Dorne. They would travel to the Free Cities with Ser Willem Darry, Prince Viserys, and Princess Daenerys. They would protect their king, and his aunt and uncle. They would find an army, and raise Jon to be the greatest king the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Then they would sail back across the Narrow Sea. They would take back Westeros and restore House Targaryen as the rightful rulers.<p>

After her brother's departure, Ashara Dayne threw herself from the Palestone Sword tower at Starfall.

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><p><strong>AN: Originally posted on AO3. Story not strictly kept to TV show. The timeline may be different from books and show. Feedback is what I'm looking for, so if you have anything to say, review or PM me. Also, important character (Arthur Dayne!) not listed in character selection, so keep that in mind and eventual Jon/Dany. Review, follow, favorite.**


	2. Arthur II

**I will keep this as short and brief and sweet as I can.**

**Frozen862: On marriage (and this is for the circumstances of _this story, _not canon), Rhaegar was kind of crazy and believed he could do what he wanted. Elia could see Lyanna was only a toy to be used by Rhaegar. She understood and did what she could to help. And boy or girl, she was confident the child would not pose a great threat, as Lyanna would be in her debt and the Starks are honorable. Interesting that you pointed that out. I ship Jon/Dany. Let's just leave it there. And the seven kingdoms, well, they don't know it's inevitable. And they do have dragons (or at least one of them will), so...**

**lee .yu .10: I really want him to be nicer too. It just didn't work for this. I thought that he began becoming bitter and angry after his mother died, although nothing _really _bad happened until he sold the crown. And don't worry, the update for AO3 is coming. It's just an intense case of writer's block and real life that has kept me from updating thus far.**

**And thank you to all the others that reviewed. It means so much to me.**

**Now that that's taken care of, here is the chapter.**

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><p>Jon began to cry as they left the boat, and Wylla patiently rocked him, whispering soothing words to the infant. One of the final gifts Ashara had given them. Wylla was a wetnurse from Starfall. She had meant to be used for Allyria, but . . . now she was Jon's. Arthur was grateful to have her with them. None of them pretended to know the first thing about raising a child, and Wylla had thankfully raised three. And they needed a wetnurse for Daenerys, too.<p>

Arthur still couldn't believe Queen Rhaella was dead. She had endured so much for so long and to be brought down by childbirth was insulting. The gods were cruel. Prince Viserys must not be taking it well. He had been extremely reliant on his mother. Now she was gone and in her place was a baby sister. The boy would need them to be there for him.

The streets of Braavos were relatively empty in the early dawn. Few were out at this time and none paid any heed to the four people hurrying down the roads. It seemed deserted but Arthur's training warned him that an assassin could be lying in wait. If Ned Stark was truly loyal to his sister, he would not have told Robert Baratheon about Jon's existence. But they couldn't just assume anything. They didn't know who was friend or foe, here or in Westeros. All they knew was that they were sworn to protect their king and the king's family. And that's what they were doing.

If anyone saw him now and knew that his sister had died merely a few hours after he left, they would have considered him to be heartless. They would have thought him cold and cruel and uncaring. In truth, Arthur had shed all the tears he had for his sister months ago. She used to tell him that they needed to move on, or there would be nothing left. She used to say they couldn't stay in the past, because the past was the past and this was the present and they had to think of the future. So he had wept for days, then he wiped his eyes and he told his sister he loved her one last time and he returned to his duties. She would have wanted it to be this way (then again, if she had lived, there would be no reason for him to have cried in the first place).

His brothers had understood. They had given him space and they had given him time. And he could never repay them for it. He should have been helping them, should have been protecting his king and planning and joining them in their work. Instead, he had slept and cried and slept and cried, and the cycle had repeated over and over again for an entire month. When he returned to them, they welcomed him with open arms. They never did hold anything against each other.

Jon let out another soft cry before settling into a quiet sleep. Arthur flashed Wylla a quick smile before turning back around to keep a watchful eye out. They walked in a specific formation, though one couldn't tell just by looking. It was loose enough so they appeared to be a group of people walking normally together, but it covered the baby. Wylla was in the center, as she held Jon; Arthur was to her right; Gerold was in front and to the left; Oswell covered the back, slightly to the left. If anyone tried to come at them directly, they would be able to protect their king.

Willem Darry had sent a messenger boy, telling them to go to a house with a red door that was located within the city. That was where he was taking care of Viserys and Daenerys, and that was where they would unite to raise the children for a number of years. They had to be prepared to leave at any time; they didn't know when Robert Baratheon would find them, if ever, and they didn't want to be caught by his assassins. Money would become a problem with time. Ashara had given them some money before they left, but it would not last for long. Arthur, Gerold, and Oswell would have to find work. They would have to be the children's teachers, telling them of Westeros and its lords and lands. Rhaella would have been better suited to this task, as she had already raised one future king and a prince. But they would have to make do with what they had.

It didn't take them long to find the house. The directions were easy and the house was not far in the city. It was big; two stories with a balcony, a yard in the back, a garden in the front, access to the canal. The house itself was not incredibly obvious, as there were others similar in design and color nearby. It would work well for now.

Gerold knocked three times and gave a low whistle. That was the sign Willem had given them to let him know it was them. Within moments, the door was opened and there stood Ser Willem Darry. He had not changed much since the last time Arthur had seen him. He was a little older and had more grey in his hair. He squinted slightly, as if he couldn't see them clearly. A soft smile broke out on his face when he recognized who they were.

"Gerold," he greeted the Lord Commander. They shook hands, embracing. "Arthur." The same courtesy was given to Arthur. "Oswell." Then he led them inside, closing the door and locking it tightly behind them. He had said nothing regarding Wylla and Jon, only giving the baby one look before greeting his fellow knights.

"Ser, where should I take His Grace?" Wylla asked carefully. She kept looking around them, examining everything. She didn't like it, Arthur concluded. She must have been missing Starfall. But now that she had fed Jon and taken care of him, they had no worry of her leaving. She loved the babe too much to do that.

Willem jerked his head to the stairway. "Up there. The hall to your left. Second door on the right is the nursery. Princess Daenerys is sleeping in there."

"Did you obtain a wetnurse for the princess?" Arthur knew that there had been no wetnurse for them to take on Dragonstone. It could have been he found a girl in Braavos to take care of the baby.

And indeed it was true. "Yes, though now that we have her, I won't be needing the girl. She was one of the sailors' daughter. She has a baby of her own that she would bring with her sometimes. It is good to have someone we can trust now. We can trust her?"

Arthur nodded. "She served my sister. She is loyal."

"And, your sister . . ." Ser Willem did not mean to hurt him. He did not know what had happened at Starfall. He was merely concerned with the safety of the children. Still, Arthur's heart ached as he thought of Ashara. He gave no indication of the pain in his body language. He was done weeping. Ashara was gone; nothing could be done about it now.

"She cannot do anything to give away where we are. She is dead."

Ser Willem's eyes widened. "Arthur, I'm so sorry. How did she-"

"Her grief killed her, we'll just say that." Telling someone that your sister had killed herself was much harder to say. He wasn't cold, he wasn't heartless. He had a duty. There were more important things to think about than a sister that died months ago. Look where long-term grieving has left us in the past; Robert's Rebellion was given more fuel for its blaze, thanks to the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark. "How have the children been?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.

"They are alright. Viserys has not been doing well since his mother passed. He doesn't like his sister much. I think he blames her for Rhaella's death," Willem explained to him, leading him to a table where they could sit comfortably. Gerold and Oswell walked to the stairs, intending to watch over the children. They couldn't be too careful with Robert's hatred for Targarens.

"Rhaella, I think, would have wanted her daughter to live. She would have wanted her to be strong, like she was. It's just too bad the gods took her so soon. She should be here, watching over the children, raising them, teaching them." His grip on the table had tightened and his mouth was a thin line. It wasn't fair that the gods had taken her, but then again, the gods were seldom fair. "We'll need someone to do that. Wylla might not be enough. Huh, what I wouldn't give to have Ashara here." There it was again. The conversation was back to her.

"Jon seems like he'll be a strong lad. He's got the Stark look," Ser Willem said, smiling a little. Arthur smiled with him.

"Yes. It would appear Rhaegar was wrong." When Willem looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. "He believed he had to have a Visenya for his Aegon. He already had Rhaenys. Now he needed Viseyna. Of course, Elia couldn't give him anymore children. So he needed another woman. And his child couldn't be a bastard, or from a lowborn whore. That's where Lyanna Stark came in.

"He was so certain that it would be a girl. Seven hells, he was so sure about everything. He had said to me the day he left, 'When I return, Arthur, the world will see that my Aegon is the Prince That Was Promised. If the Faith and the people are angry that I took a second wife, I am the king and a Targaryen. There will be nothing they can do.' As we both know, he didn't return. Aegon, Rhaenys and Elia were killed. Visenya was born a boy. And we have three orphans on our hands, two of which will never know their parents."

There was a heavy silence between them. So many duties, so many risks. They were four knights and a wetnurse, and they were expected to raise a king, a prince, and a princess, find them an army, and wage war on Robert Baratheon, who had most of the Seven Kingdoms on his side. Through all that, they first had to survive long enough to get that far. Maybe he had no knowledge of Jon, but Robert knew that Daenerys and Viserys still lived. If a spy or assassin got close enough, they could send word back to him that Jon was with them. Then, the threat to Robert's claim would be even bigger, and he would do everything in his power to kill the 'dragonspawn born of rape,' as he would likely call Jon. They needed allies and friends to help them, and at the moment, they were sorely lacking in both.

Arthur let out a bark of laughter, bringing Willem's attention back to him. "What do we even call him?" he wondered aloud. "Do we call him Robert Baratheon? Robert? King Robert? Usurper? Rhaegar's killer?" He surely sounded mad. Why would he be asking what they call their enemy when they have so many other things to worry about? But Willem Darry only chuckled.

"I don't know. What do you call your enemy that has taken your throne?" They were tired and stressed and scared out of their minds. And they were laughing. They leaned back in their chairs, shaking with laughter.

Eventually, it died down and they were left with smiles on their faces. Ser Willem stood up, stretching. "Wine? Ale?" he offered.

"Ale will do for me," Arthur answered him. He watched the older knight walk into another room. He tapped the hilt of Dawn, wrapping his hand around the pommel. The sword was comforting, a reminder of what he was best at. That was what they needed now; it would be so simple to just lose themselves in fake identities, in names that were not true. They could just give up, pretend to be others and forget about Westeros, the Targaryens, Robert's Rebellion.

But they wouldn't do that. Rhaegar, in all his madness, had been his friend. Lyanna had been his friend. Elia had been Ashara's friend, and his, too. He owed it to them to defeat Robert. He owed it to Ashara, who had suffered so much from this war. He would raise Jon to be the best king Westeros had ever seen - better than Rhaegar was believed to be. They would return things to how they should have been, with Robert dead and the Targaryens once again on the throne. They would end the tradition of incest and purify the line. They would make things right.

They couldn't just forget. There was too much pain and blood and loss to lose themselves. They would each have their reminders, to keep them on track of what they wanted. Jon would be Arthur's, as would Dawn. Every time he looked at the boy, he would remember the friend he had lost in the Tower of Joy, of the promise he had made her. They would never be safe until their enemies were dead. He would remember that when he saw Dawn, when he felt the sword's weight and balance, when he used it to fight off their enemies.

The words of House Targaryen were "Fire and Blood." They would take their revenge on their enemies with fire and blood. But the words of House Stark were "Winter is Coming." And oh, winter was coming for those who had wronged them.

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><p>Arthur cursed as he once again took the wrong turn. He knew the instructions by heart, and if that failed, he had them written down and in his hand. But Ser Willem's directions had not been as specific as he wished they were. This was the eighth time he had almost gotten lost in the same hour. Perhaps it would have been better if he had sent Ser Gerold. Maybe the older Kingsguard would have had an easier time with this navigating of Braavos.<p>

Gerold decided they needed better armor. The ones they had were old and damaged from the journey and their time during and before the war. They were trying to keep low profiles, but they had a king to protect. It would be much easier to do this with new armor. So, they'd sent Arthur, who had been the only one that was not on duty or required to take care of the children, to buy some. Willem Darry had given him directions to the nearest harbor which had the kind they were looking for.

The three months they'd spent in Braavos so far had been rather uneventful. It was almost more boring than on the trip across the sea. At least on the ship, he had been able to help the sailors with their work. Here, his time was split between guarding, playing with the children, eating, and sleeping. The children should have been more interesting, but two of them were infants and the other was a nine-year old boy.

There been no attacks, no threats. Nothing had come from Robert Baratheon, or the Stag as they had agreed to call him. They had not expected anything to happen within three months of arriving in Braavos. It would be nearly impossible for the Stag to discover where they were hiding in that short amount of time. The sea would help to cover their tracks. For how long, they did not know. Arthur hoped it would be long enough for them to have an idea of what they were going to do. Right now, their goal was just to raise the children. They had no plan on how to get an army, how to get to Westeros. Thinking ahead, though, might give them a chance if something were to happen.

"Dammit," he said under his breath. Another wrong turn and now he had no idea where he was. This was getting annoying. He was tired of going one way and then having to step back, and start again. He was sure that if he tried any longer, he would truly get lost. And he couldn't ask for directions; he didn't speak Braavosi, and what were the chances he'd find someone nearby that spoke the Common Tongue?

He began to turn around and start home when he stopped. A few feet away, watching him intently, was a young boy. He was about the same age as Viserys, with dusty brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was skinny and his clothes were practically rags. Nothing about him should have been suspicious. Except the way he looked at Arthur, as if he knew him. There was recognition in the boy's eyes. He was watching him and no one else.

As their eyes met, the boy stood from where he had been standing. He walked away, in the opposite direction. He was looking back over his shoulder at Arthur.

"Stop!" Arthur called to the boy. The boy's eyes did not widen in shock or fear. He merely started running. "You, boy! Stop!"

The boy turned a corner. Arthur followed him, the need to know who this boy was and how he knew him overwhelming his senses. No one should have been able to recognize him. He wasn't wearing Kingsguard armor, or a sigil. He'd left Dawn at the house, knowing his sword would attract more attention than a regular one. The pale hair and violet eyes would have been noticeable in Westeros, but here? There was nothing to show who he had been before. So why did this boy know him?

They turned corner after corner, running down streets and past people. Arthur had long since lost track of where they were or where they had gone. He didn't know anymore and he didn't care. He would find his way back; this boy was his biggest worry now.

He almost caught the boy. He'd gotten close and reached a hand out to grab his shirt. But he hadn't been paying attention. A man had stepped into Arthur's path, and so they both came falling down onto the street. He only had time for a quick 'sorry' before he was up on his feet and after the boy again. The delay had given the boy the lead and now Arthur was losing him.

"Stop boy!" he cried again. The child paid him no heed. He turned down another street, some steps ahead of Arthur. By the time Arthur managed to get to that street, the boy was gone. He ran his hands through his hair, huffing as he caught his breath. The boy was gone. He wouldn't know who he had worked for, who had sent him.

"They are hard to keep pace with, I know," a voice said from behind him. Arthur froze, for he knew that voice. He'd heard it many times in King's Landing, in the Red Keep, in council meetings.

Turning around slowly, he found himself face to face with the Master of Whispers, Varys the Spider. The eunuch was disguised, with only his face being the clear and visible sign it was him. He'd dressed like a merchant, wearing rich silks that were an assortment of bright colors. Actually, his clothes were very much like the ones he had worn in King's Landing.

"Varys." Immediately his hand was on his sword pommel, unsheathing the blade and pointing it at the eunuch's chest. "What do you want? Here to rat to the new king about a runaway knight?"

Varys chuckled, a sound different from what Arthur was used to coming from him. His voice was usually high-pitched and soft. Now, it was deeper, much deeper. "We both know you are not some sellsword now. You're keeping your vows to protect your king, are you not? You, Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell and Willem Darry are protecting His Grace, Jon Targaryen."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. How did the eunuch know? As if aware of what he was thinking, the Spider answered, "Secrets are my trade, Ser Arthur Dayne, and my little birds are everywhere."

"So what now? Do you go and report this back to your new king? Inform him that the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna now resides in Braavos? Have another child murdered because of that man's anger?" He had stepped closer, his sword almost touching the eunuch's chest. Varys only tittered, something Arthur had grown used to coming from him.

"Inform King Robert? No," he said, shaking his head. "I do not serve Robert Baratheon. I am here because there is a meeting that should be arranged."

"What meeting? With who?"

Varys smiled. "Between you and Lord Eddard Stark."

For his part, Arthur hid his surprise well. "What are you talking about? Speak sense, eunuch."

"Lord Stark would like to meet his nephew. And I'm sure you realize that you need allies in Westeros if you ever hope to return someday. Lord Stark was not in favor of the killing of Princess Elia and her children. He would rather not see that happen to his sister's son. If you had the North on your side, you would be one step closer to returning home." Varys spoke true. They did need an army, and the North would be very useful. And with the North would likely come the Riverlands. And maybe the Eyrie, as well.

Though still suspicious, Arthur sheathed his sword. "When will this meeting happen?"

"It's good to see you have sense. Four months from now, you will go to Ragman's Harbor. There will be a ship by the name of The Red Tiger. You will get on that boat, and ask to speak with the captain. You will say to the captain "Valar Morghulis" and you will give him this." He took Arthur's hand and pressed a coin into his open palm. "From there, the captain will take you inside his ship, and you will meet Lord Stark. You will take him with you back to the house you rest at now. He must return to that ship before night falls the next day. Do you understand, Ser Arthur?"

He nodded his head. It was a lot to take in, but he could remember it. "Yes. I understand."

"Good. You will not see me again for a long time, Ser Arthur. My little birds will follow you though, and I will send you word if Robert Baratheon plans any attacks on the young prince and princess. One of my birds will take you home. Goodbye, Ser Arthur Dayne." Varys turned his back on Arthur, walking slowly away.

Arthur called him back. "Varys!" The Spider looked back at him, one eyebrow raised in question. "Why are you doing this? You said you did not serve the Stag. Who do you serve?"

"I serve the realm, Ser Arthur." The Spider left, leaving a shocked and disgruntled Arthur Dayne to follow the ragged child back to the house with the red door.

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><p><strong>Review, follow, favorite. Next chapter is from Ned's POV.<strong>


	3. Ned I

**elaine451: Thank you. I understand how you feel about Catelyn. I read the books and I love her in all other aspects, but I just hate how she treats Jon. Don't worry, Jon is going to make it to Westeros. I have never really considered betrothing him to Sansa. Hmmm, interesting. Viserys won't be as bad, but unfortunately, he is a jealous fool. And yes, Drogo is going to show up. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you make my day. I give you Ned, and some background for all that had been going on. Enjoy!**

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><p>When Varys the Spider - the Master of Whispers, who should have been in King's Landing, serving Robert - approached him, Ned wasn't sure how to react. There were many things he felt when he saw this man; suspicion (what did the Master of Whispers want with him?), hatred (why didn't he stop this war from happening? Why didn't he save Brandon and Father?), curiosity (he had done nothing to this man. What did he have to say?), anger (why was he here, when he had a realm and a king to serve?). He did not have long to wait to have most of these questions answered.<p>

Ned had been in the godswood of Winterfell, running a whetstone down Ice, deep in thought. There had been a deserter that day, from the Night's Watch. It had fallen to the Lord of Winterfell to give punishment. It was something Brandon should have done. There were many things Ned had that should have been Brandon's. Catelyn should have been Brandon's wife. Robb should have been Brandon's son. Brandon should be the one wielding Ice. Winterfell should have belonged to Brandon. Brandon should be Lord of Winterfell.

Instead, Brandon and Father and Lyanna were dead, Benjen had joined the Night's Watch, and everything that should have been his brother's was now Ned's.

The letter left by Ser Arthur Dayne in the Tower of Joy had explained all. Lyanna had thought herself in love with Rhaegar and did not want to marry Robert. Rhaegar, who believed his prophecy must be completed, wanted Lyanna. So he had danced with her and spoken with her and made her fall utterly and completely in love with him. Then she learned that he meant to take her as his second wife, meant to take the throne from his mad father, Aerys. Once she realized what his true intentions had been, she had left him, ignored him until they finally returned to Winterfell.

And then Rhaegar - with the help of Sers Arthur, Gerold and Oswell of the Kingsguard - traveled to Winterfell and took Lyanna. He brought her to the Tower of Joy in Dorne, where he remained with her until the news of Brandon and Father's deaths reached them and the war broke out. Rhaegar left the three Kingsguard to watch over his second wife and his 'Visenya' as he called his unborn child. Rhaegar was defeated at the Trident. King's Landing was sacked by the Lannisters. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon were killed. And Lyanna gave birth.

Visenya was born a boy, not a girl. Ser Arthur wrote that Lyanna named him Jon. As he was their king now, the Kingsguard made the decision to take him away from Westeros and raise him until such a time as he was fit to lead and retake Westeros. The letter hadn't mentioned where they were headed. Ser Arthur, it appeared, trusted him enough with the truth but not with their plans.

Lyanna - wild, fierce, spirited Lyanna - had died bringing her child into the world. Her body had been left in the Tower of Joy, so that Ned could decide what would be done with her bones. He had chosen to bury them in the crypts of Winterfell, along with Father and Brandon. Truly, the crypts were only meant for the Lords of Winterfell and the Kings of the North. But Ned thought that one exception could be made.

He had guessed that the Kingsguard would be headed to Starfall. That was where Ser Arthur's ancestral home was, as well as his sister, Ashara. Ned had wanted to ride there, for what reasons, he did not know. Maybe he wanted revenge for the taking of his sister, for the war. Maybe he wanted to hear the story from Ser Arthur's own lips. Maybe he just wanted to see his nephew, his sister's son that according to Ser Arthur, looked more Stark than Targaryen. But Howland Reed had told him no. Let the Kingsguard do as they wish. Besides, it would not be a wise decision to see the Lady Ashara. Not after all that had happened.

Varys came to him, after the execution. He had walked into the godswood, acting for all the world like it wasn't unusual or downright strange to see him there. He had looked the part of a northern servant, too. He'd had heavy furs and thick leather on. He'd had a beard and hair, and he'd been completely unrecognizable. Ned had thought he was one of the staff until Varys had introduced himself.

"Lord Stark, it is nice to meet you again." They had met once, when Ned had been in King's Landing. "I am Varys, Master of Whispers."

Perhaps he wouldn't have believed the eunuch then, if it had not been for that voice. Ned was surprised he remembered; their meeting had been short, brief and only occurred once. "Lord Varys?" he asked incredulously.

"Please, I am no lord. You, on the other hand, are. You are Lord of Winterfell, a title that should have belonged to your brother. Indeed, much that would have been Brandon's is now yours."

Ned's voice was low with suppressed anger. "Yes, Winterfell, my title - all of it should have belonged to my brother. But he died, at the hands of the Mad King, along with my father. You were there, were you not? Why did you do nothing? Why did you just sit there and watch my father burn and my brother choke himself to death?"

Varys gave him a sad smile, filled with pity. "I am not skilled with a sword. Few trust me. I have no lordships, no power over the guards or the knights. What could I have done, Lord Stark?" He sounded as though he were speaking with a child.

"Something!" Ned yelled, exasperated and angry with this man. He refused to believe that there was nothing that Varys could have done.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord, truly I am. But that is not why I have traveled this far to meet with you. You read the letter left for you by Ser Arthur Dayne, did you not?" Ned's eyes widened at this question. How had he known?

"How-how did you-"

"I am the Master of Whispers, Lord Stark. Secrets are my trade. Now, did you read the letter?"

Ned, stunned by this knowledge Varys possessed, stammered, "Yes."

"Good. Then you know of His Grace Jon Targaryen's birth. As you are aware, the Targaryens have few friends here in Westeros. The boy is your nephew, your sister's son. Surely you would like to see him returned to Westeros?" Varys asked him.

It was a difficult question to answer. Not because he didn't know if he wanted to meet his nephew, but because he knew what Varys was really asking. Would you side with the Targaryens against your best friend? Would you risk another war? Jon was his nephew, and that alone should have been enough reasoning for him to say yes. His wife's family's words were ones he did follow: family, duty, honor. Family was important, as had been proven when his brother rode south and he did too. His duty was to the realm, and if the Targaryens - those who had made Westeros what it is - were seeking to reclaim their home, surely it was his duty to aid them? His honor meant everything, and his honor was to his family.

But Robert Baratheon was his best friend, practically his brother. He hadn't agreed with his allowing the murders of Elia Martell and her children, but Robert was his friend. And they had gone through so much to put Robert on the throne and defeat the Targaryens. War was bloody and horrible. War killed men and women and children. War left realms shaken and kingdoms rocked. War left them picking up the pieces and trying to return things to how they were before. Did he want to fight another war against a realm that would likely side against his nephew? Was this distant family that important to him? His family here, in Winterfell, could be put into danger from it. He could lose them, or they him. Did he want that?

So Ned answered the question carefully. "I do. But must there be war? Surely there is another way they could return?" It was a futile argument and they both knew it.

"Would your friend Robert be willing to let the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna return unharmed? Would he let him live?" Varys countered. Is family worth it all? he had to ask himself. And it was truly horrible thing to have to consider. He had gone to war for his sister and the deaths of his father and brother. With that, he had barely given it a second thought. Now here was his sister's son, who was the Targaryen heir, and he was considering fighting for him. War was terrible indeed, but it was like saying that there was some family he would fight for and some he wouldn't.

As if sensing the battle raging inside his mind, Varys added, "Perhaps meeting the boy would help you make your decision?"

Ned looked at him, surprised. He could see his nephew? "He's here? Is he in the nursery?"

Varys only gave a small laugh. "I'm afraid His Grace is not here in Westeros. You may see him, but it would require a trip across the sea." Across the sea. Of course they would hide there. That was the only place they could go where Robert would not be able to just snap his fingers and send an army after them.

"How? How can I see him?" He wanted to see the boy, he really did. He wanted to see the child that Lyanna had given her life for. He had to be worth it, if Ned's sister would die for him. He had to be.

"I would arrange for you to take a ship across the sea. An excuse would be made for your absence; perhaps you could tell Robert a half-truth. You've found a lead on where the Targaryen prince and princess might be and would like to take care of them yourself, maybe?" Varys gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "It does not matter right now. Once you reach the destination, you will meet with Ser Arthur. He will show you where the boy is and you will meet him. Will you take my offer, Lord Stark?"

How could he refuse? The chance to see his nephew, Lyanna's son, when he might never again? "Yes. Yes, I will take your offer."

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><p>In the end, they had used the excuse that Ned had fallen ill. It was a strange excuse, in Ned's opinion, but the servants of Winterfell were loyal. They would keep the secret that their lord was not actually in his holdfast a secret. The lie was that Ned was too sick to leave his chambers, hence no one seeing him for the months he would be gone. Catelyn had been made aware that he was leaving, too, though she was kept in the dark as well. Ned liked her and did trust her, but not with this. It was his secret and his alone to keep. If word were to reach Robert that Ned was contacting the Targaryens across the sea, the less people involved, the better.<p>

Still, he did not like being kept away from Winterfell for so long. It was worth seeing his nephew and deciding if he would fight this war, but he missed his home. He missed his son, Robb, who looked so like his mother. He missed Catelyn, who was a sweet and loyal woman. He missed the godswood, where he had spent a great part of his childhood chasing his brothers and sister. He was homesick, and this meeting would not change it.

Varys told him he would only spend a day in the city. "To remain as inconspicuous as possible," Varys had said. He was right; the longer Ned stayed across the sea, the longer they would have to tell the lie and the sooner people would become suspicious. The journey was not a short one; it would take at least some weeks, maybe longer, to reach their destination. Ned had still no idea where that might be.

As he stood at the prow of the ship, The Red Tiger, he allowed himself to think of things that he wouldn't normally. Namely, Ser Arthur Dayne's sister, Ashara Dayne.

Word had come a while ago of the Lady Ashara's suicide. Ned had wept in private. He was married to Catelyn Tully. She had given him a son. He couldn't be seen grieving for another woman. He loved Cat. She was a wonderful woman. But there would always be a small piece of him that Ashara would hold.

He had first met her at the Tourney of Harranhal. She'd been the most beautiful woman there, with her dark hair and her piercing violet eyes. Her beauty had been heard of even in the North, but Ned hadn't believed it until he met her. She had seemed to enjoy his company, though that first night she spent more time in Brandon's company than Ned's (something which would lead to her grief in the end).

And then Brandon had been gone the next day. Naturally, Ashara had sought out his company. They'd gone riding and watched the tourney. She'd danced with him that night. He'd been shy and unsure and awkward. She just laughed and told him he was a good dancer. That must have been when they realized they liked each other not just as friends. Ashara had left in a hurry that night, flustered about something.

Four days later, they had kissed. It had been while they were riding together. They had stopped for a rest and had tied the horses to trees. They'd been looking at the landscape, and Ashara had commented on how beautiful the land was, despite the horrible stories surrounding Harranhal. Ned had thought that she was the most beautiful thing there. And somehow, their lips had met and they had been kissing one another.

Ned, in his love-struck state, had promised to marry her, once his sister married Robert. It was a vow he would break some months later. Lyanna went missing, Brandon rode to King's Landing, he and Father died, and before Ned knew it, he was marching off to war with Robert. They'd needed the Riverlands, and Hoster Tully had only agreed to it if Ned would marry his eldest daughter, Catelyn, and Jon Aryn married his other daughter, Lysa.

All throughout his wedding night, Ned had thought about how wrong it was. Ashara should have been his bride, not Catelyn. Catelyn was beautiful and kind and lovely, but she was not Ashara. She was not Ned's love.

If things had been different - if Lyanna had not been taken - then Ned would have married Ashara. He would have done all he could to make get his father to agree. He would have ridden all the way to Starfall if that's what it took. But this was the way things were and now only Benjen remained of all those he had once loved.

As he made his way below to get some rest, he considered how unfair it was of the gods to do these things to them. They had taken his family and brought war upon them. Did they have to take Ashara, too?

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><p>Braavos. His nephew was being cared for in Braavos. The captain of the ship told him he was not allowed to leave, not yet anyway. He said that someone must come to get him first. Ned didn't understand, but he supposed it was all a part of Varys' plan. So he waited until the captain came to him, saying his escort was here.<p>

He was shocked to find Ser Arthur Dayne himself waiting in the captain's cabin. His pale hair was tied back. He wasn't wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard; rather, he wore light leathers under simple clothes. Dawn was strapped to his back, easily within reach of Arthur's hand. His eyes - so like Ashara's - were alight with suspicion and caution. He obviously trusted Ned no more than Ned trusted him.

"Lord Stark," he addressed him curtly. "Follow me."

He led him away, not even bothering to check if Ned was following. He led him off the boat, into the dark and empty streets of Braavos. The moon was high in the sky, the reason why they encountered nearly no one on their late journey. There was the occasional drunkard or two, but besides them, there was no one.

Arthur took him through the canals and twisting streets, leading him so far into the city that he didn't know where he was anymore. They said nothing to one another; what was there to say? Ned would meet his nephew soon enough, and he was unsure whether discussing Ashara would be such a good idea. Did Ser Arthur even know of his sister's fate? Did he care? He had chosen duty over his sister. But then again, so had Ned.

The silence was too much for him (which was odd, considering Ned was a man of few words). Ned decided to risk it and speak with this man. "Arthur, your sister, Ashara-"

"Is dead. I know." What? How could he know? It had been some months since it happened, but one lady killing herself might not have been spoken of among many sailors. And there was no certainty that they would have heard any rumors concerning Ashara's death.

Ned voiced these thoughts. "How can you know, Ser? Word doesn't travel that fast in Braavos, does it?"

"No, it doesn't. My sister killed herself merely hours after we departed Starfall. And . . ." He appeared reluctant to say something more. Taking a deep breath, Arthur Dayne admitted, "And she told me before I left."

Ned was not a man to get angry over nothing. When he lost his temper - and those were very rare moments - it was for an important reason. Which is why he grabbed Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning, by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall of the nearest structure. He had to stop himself from strangling this man right here, right now. Ashara wouldn't want it and without this man, he had no hope of finding Jon. Ser Arthur was perfectly calm. He didn't struggle against Ned's grip, or try to fight his way out. He just let Ned hold him there, watching him with a calm that came from a man prepared for this situation.

"How did- Why wouldn't you- Why did you not-" Ned had to stop himself several times in order to speak. Even after he had taken a few deep breaths, his voice still shook with anger. "Why did you not stop her?" This was the woman he had loved almost more than his own family. Her brother was standing before him, telling him he'd let her die. It was a miracle Arthur was not dead yet.

"My sister had very little to live for anymore."

"What do you mean? She had plenty to live for," Ned growled. She had me, he wanted to say, but that would be a lie. He had to abandon her the moment the war began.

Arthur Dayne smiled grimly. There was no amusement in his smile, no humor, no happiness. There was hardly any emotion, except for sadness. "You're a smart man, Eddard Stark. You should be well aware of the reasons my sister killed herself. But since it appears you're not, I will explain it for you.

"Elia Martell was like a sister to Ashara. They were so close, they were almost twins. Ashara cared for Rhaenys and Aegon as if they were her own. Then Tywin Lannister and the Mountain That Rides and Robert Baratheon killed them. The Mountain bashed Aegon's head against a wall, then raped Elia and killed her with Aegon's blood and brains still on his hands. Rhaenys was stabbed half a hundred times. At least, that's what I've heard.

"You were the love of her life. She wanted to marry you, wanted to give you children and be your lady wife almost since the day she met you. She told me of the day you two kissed for the first time. She said it was the greatest day of her life. Imagine her pain at learning that not only was your sister missing and your father and brother murdered, but also that you were married to your brother's betrothed. Imagine how much that would have torn away at her heart.

"Perhaps what convinced her that there was nothing left for her was the death of her daughter, Allyria. Brandon's bastard." Ned recoiled at this. Ashara had been pregnant with Brandon's bastard?

Arthur continued, looking Ned directly in the eye. "She told you about that night, didn't she? The first night of the Tourney of Harranhal? She had thought herself in love with Brandon Stark, the heir of the North. So in love, that she was willing to give him her maidenhead the first night she'd met him. Oh, she'd been infatuated with you, too, but she believed Brandon was her one, true love.

"That is, until she watched him treating other highborn ladies the same as he had treated her. He would dance with them, act absolutely charming. He would compliment them, make them feel as though they mattered to him. There were probably many young girls there that thought themselves in love with Brandon. And of course, this broke my sister's heart. She'd believed that the songs were true, despite everything she'd seen in King's Landing; that one day, the perfect prince would come to rescue her and would take her away to a place where he would love her and treat her like a queen, like a goddess.

"Naturally, all her hopes for something like that were crushed. Until she met you. Quiet, solemn, honorable, kind Eddard Stark. The younger brother of Brandon. She'd been cautious with you, worried that you would be another Brandon. But as she got to know you, she realized you were the complete opposite of your brother. You were loyal and honest. When you would tell her she was beautiful, you meant it. Of course she would really fall in love with you.

"When you married Catelyn Tully, her heart was broken. The only thing I think that kept her alive was the baby growing within her belly. At first, she had dared to hope it was yours. But then she realized that the only man she'd slept with at the tourney was your brother. She would not punish the child for what it had no control over. She decided to keep it. And she prayed that it would look like you, that she would have some piece of you left, even if it was as distant as your brother's bastard. When the child came, she'd been so excited, so happy at the prospect of having a child. Her daughter, Allyria, was stillborn. That was when she decided there was nothing left for her."

Through all of this, Ned had been watching Arthur intently. Was this a lie? Was he trying to cause Ned more pain? As he looked at Arthur's face, into his eyes, he realized that if it was a lie, Arthur believed it with all his heart. Arthur's eyes were filled with pain and anguish. He believed this story he'd told.

"Did she-did she tell you that?" Ned asked carefully, releasing his hold on Arthur's collar. Arthur stepped away from the wall and looked off into the distance.

"Yes. In our last few days together, she'd admitted it all to me. She said that she wanted someone to know her reasons." He shook his head, sighing. "Lyanna was my friend, you know. Many people would have blamed her, I think, if she had lived. But it wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. It was all Rhaegar. The war, Lyanna's death, Ashara's death - it was all Rhaegar's fault. For all his intelligence, he was nearly as mad as his father. I pray Lyanna's looks aren't the only things Jon inherited from her."

Both of them stood there in silence, contemplating the past. It was probably for the best that Rhaegar was dead then, Ned supposed. Arthur Dayne had been his closest friend and one of the Kingsguard. If he called Rhaegar mad, who was Ned to argue?

After a while, Arthur said, "Come. The others will be waiting and you don't have much time." He began walking away, this time at a slower pace and checking every now and then if Ned was still following.

They finally reached the house with the red door. Jon's home for now. When he entered, he found two other men waiting there for him. He recognized Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of Aerys' Kingsguard. The other man Ned had to be introduced to. Willem Darry, former master-at-arms in King's Landing. Oswell Whent was on duty, he was told.

"May I see the boy?" he asked once introductions had been given. Gerold nodded solemnly.

"But I warn you, Lord Stark," Ser Gerold began, "if you try anything-"

"What could I do?" Ned interrupted. "I couldn't kill the boy; he has three Kingsguard watching over him. He's family, besides that. I can't take him away; the ship won't leave for a day or two and I don't know my way around. I would like to return home, and that would be impossible if I did something. So tell me, Ser Gerold, what could I possibly do?"

The Lord Commander was at a loss for words. Ser Arthur and Ser Willem only chuckled at the expression on Ser Gerold's face. "Come with me," Arthur said, already walking towards the stairs. "I'll take you to see the boy."

He led him up the stairs, a heavy silence between them. Arthur may have been prepared for that confrontation, but nothing could prepare him for the hurt it would inflict. There were probably things that Arthur wished to forget and couldn't. His sister's suicide was likely one of them.

They could hear the cries of a baby before they made it to the door. Arthur said inside was the nursery, and that Jon would probably be resting in there. Oswell Whent stood outside the room. He gave Arthur a nod and watched Ned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Ned may be Jon's uncle, but he had supported Robert in the war, not Rhaegar. That made him a possible threat to their king.

When Ned entered the room, he found a woman holding a baby. She was singing softly to it, trying to calm it down. Ned walked forward, tentatively holding out his arms, and asked, "May I hold him?"

The woman looked at him uncertainly, and Ned worried he had done something wrong. Arthur let out a laugh from behind him. "That's not Jon," he said. "That is Princess Daenerys. Jon is the quiet one, the one in the cradle." He gestured to the corner of the room.

As he walked past the woman, he noticed the baby in her arms had a tuft of silver hair, and her eyes were a bright purple, like amethysts. He stood before the cradle, looking down into it. The baby inside had dark hair, and Ned could guess that if the baby opened its eyes, they would be grey.

Carefully, Ned picked up the baby. He'd held Robb plenty of times, so he knew what he was doing. Still, he felt afraid that he would drop this baby. He gently rested Jon's head in the crook of his arm, cradling him against his chest. Jon slept on, unaware of what was going on around him. Looking at him, there was no uncertainty that this was Lyanna's son. Oh, there would be parts of his father in him (hopefully not the madness) but he would be a Stark, through and through.

He smiled softly as he gazed at his nephew. It was hard to believe that such a little thing could pose such a huge threat to Robert's reign. His heart clenched as he thought of what his friend might do if he learned this boy existed. Dragonspawn, he'd called Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, who had been children of Elia. What would Robert do if he learned the son of Lyanna lived?

Suddenly he felt fear. Fear for this little child that he held in his arms. The boy, along with Princess Daenerys, would spend most of his life looking over his shoulder. He would never have a home, never know what it felt like to be truly safe. He would never know his parents, either. Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident and Lyanna died after childbirth. Jon would only have the word of his Kingsguard to know what his parents had been like.

An idea came to Ned. He turned to Arthur, hope blooming in his chest. "Ser Arthur, let me take Jon with me to Winterfell." Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Ned spoke over him. "I can claim him as my bastard. I can say that he was born during the war, that I had him brought to me because I wanted all my children to be with me."

For a moment, he dared to hope. This could be it; the boy would know a family, would be kept safe. Ned could raise him, could keep his sister's son with him. He would do this for Lyanna, so her child could know safety and security. Arthur Dayne crushed those hopes. "No! Absolutely not. I will not let you take the rightful king of Westeros and have him raised as a bastard. He deserves more than that."

"What could he have here? What could you give him? He will spend all his life running, believing in dreams that one day he will take back his home. What if that day never comes?"

Arthur was gripping Dawn tightly, jaw clenched in anger. "So what would you do? You would have him raised to believe he is a mistake, a stain on your honor? How will your lady wife treat him? And your children? Will they accept him as one of their own, or will they see him as an outsider and a threat? Here, he has his aunt and his uncle. He has myself and Wylla and the others. He will know love and acceptance. We can protect him. If the Stag finds out your holding Rhaegar's son, he will kill you all."

"I can give him a better future. I can give him a chance-"

"A chance at what? A chance to give up everything that is his for protection that we can give? The boy stays with us, Lord Stark. Ashara may have trusted you, Lyanna may have trusted you, but I will not do this. Jon is our king and we will raise him to be the king." He paced over to the window, which overlooked the city. "And when the time comes, we will give him an army and we will take Westeros back from the Stag."

* * *

><p>The ship rocked underneath Ned's feet. They were on their way back to Westeros, back to Winterfell and his family. But it wasn't complete. So many were still missing; Father, Brandon, Lyanna, Benjen, and now Jon.<p>

He'd hoped that after his argument with Arthur, the Sword in the Morning or maybe the others would see sense. They hadn't. They refused to let Ned take Jon. They would not give up their king.

Ned's heart had sunk. He could have provided his nephew with so much more. The life of a bastard would have been better than the life of a hunted king. He would have given Jon every comfort his own children received, would have given him love and a home and a family. And maybe Catelyn would have been able to show him a mother's love, too.

Now it was too late. The ship had sailed away from Braavos and he would be unable to return for a long time. They'd promised he could meet the boy again, but they hadn't said when. Maybe he would never see his nephew again. Robert's assassins could kill him before he could get a chance to arrange another meeting.

There was one other thing that this journey had helped Ned realize. He didn't want a war, he didn't want to have to choose sides. But if it came down to it, he would fight for his nephew. Family, duty, honor were the words of House Tully. Jon was family, and Ned would fight for him. He would not have another Aegon or Rhaenys lying at Robert's feet. Not again.


	4. Willem

**This is the first and only chapter from Ser Willem's POV. Obviously, I don't know what he's like. All I can really go off of is the conversation Ned had with Arthur, Gerold and Oswell in the Tower of Joy and Dany's memories in the books. So don't judge harshly.**

**xan-merrick: Never fear. The most important pairing of the story is Jon/Dany. I posted this originally on AO3 (Archive of Our Own, if you didn't know), and I've posted ten chapters there. From that point, it looks like I will incorporate some Jon/Dany by chapter 15-ish, maybe before, maybe later. I'm working to update this as quickly as possible. Don't worry about the pairing. Their time will come.**

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><p>The children's laughs rang through the house. Well, the laughs of Daenerys and Jon. Viserys thought that playing was something only little children did, not kings. And they always corrected him when he said that, because he so obviously meant he didn't play because he was a future king. They always had to tell him that no, he was not going to be king. Yes, Rhaegar was his brother and Rhaegar was heir to the throne. But Jon is Rhaegar's son, so he will be king before you are. Viserys would pout after that, and lock himself away in his room until he grew so bored or so hungry that he couldn't stand it anymore.<p>

They would have to keep on eye on him, Arthur and the others. Viserys was his father's son, not just in looks but in mind too. Ser Willem had been witness to one of the times Viserys had been cruel to his sister, and had seen when the older boy would hit Jon too hard during training. He was only fourteen, but in time he would be old enough to act on his decisions. He wanted the throne, and if he thought that Jon was in the way of what he wanted, he might be mad enough to try and do something about it.

That was another thing that worried Ser Willem. Jon was young, very young. He had a great responsibility on his little shoulders. In a matter of years, he would have to lead whatever army they gained and retake Westeros back from the "Usurper," as Viserys called Robert Baratheon. Willem agreed with him, Robert Baratheon was a usurper, but the way he said it, as if it was a type of being, rubbed him the wrong way. He had no love for the former Lord of Storm's End. He did see him as more than just a taker of what did not belong to him, a thief. You had to understand your enemy in war. And although they didn't have an army engaging with Robert's at the moment, the war had never ended. Not so long as Targaryen children lived.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Ser Willem considered all that he would miss. He was dying, there was no doubt about it. He was half-blind already, and the sickness was beginning to spread through his body. He had wanted to see Daenerys and Jon grow up, wanted to see the great rulers they would grow to be. Daenerys especially, for the little princess that looked so like her mother held a special place in his heart. Soon, he knew, he would be dead and Viserys and Daenerys and Jon would be under the care of the three Kingsguard.

He wasn't a fool; he knew Arthur and Gerold and Oswell didn't know the first thing about taking care of children. Yes, they had cared for Jon during the journey to the Free Cities, but they had Wylla then. Poor, sweet Wylla; she had died a year ago, the life driven from her by a fever. Jon and Daenerys had wept for days. Wylla had been the closest they'd ever had to a mother. Viserys had just sniffed (almost in contempt) and said that dragons do not weep. _They'll have a handful with that one._

Maybe he could get another nursemaid for them, one that could take care and watch over the children. The problem with being of a House that many wanted dead was that you couldn't safely settle in one place or another. You were always running, always looking over your shoulder, always sleeping with one eye open. It wouldn't be until they found an army that any of them would be able to sleep with even half an eye open, and even then, the Kingsguard would keep it open all the way. They were on the run and they had very little gold about them. Arthur's sister, Ashara, had granted them some when they left. But feeding three children and five (now four) adults was not cheap. Neither were clothes, armor, weapons, books, toys. Everything had a price.

He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve and he peered down to see Daenerys' wide, violet eyes gazing up at him. There was fear in those big eyes, and tears were beginning to form at the edges. He lifted her up and onto his lap, stroking her hair and holding her close. "What is it, little princess?" he asked in a soothing voice. She sniffled, and wiped at her nose.

"Viserys is being mean," she whimpered. Willem clenched one fist; Viserys was always trying to bully either his sister or Jon. He would be having words with the boy later. He hated it when anyone broke the little girl's heart.

"What did he do this time? Hmm? What did he say?" He placed one finger under her chin, tilting her head up so he could see her face. The tears were dripping freely down her cheeks, dropping onto the red dress she wore. Using his thumb, he brushed away the tears.

She hiccuped. A small smile played on Willem's lips, though it disappeared when Daenerys admitted to him what Viserys had done. "He said I murdered our mother. That I killed her. I told him it wasn't true, but he kept on saying how I killed her. Jon told him to shut up and to apologize. Then he told Jon that everything was his fault. That his father was dead because of him, that his mother was dead because he killed her. He said the reason we were running was because Jon was born. And then Jon ran away, and I couldn't find him."

He held her close, whispering kind words and assurances. All the while, his heart burned with anger. True, the war had been started because of what Rhaegar and Lyanna did, but it wasn't Jon's fault. The boy hadn't even been born until the war was over! But it was just like Viserys to blame him anyway. Jon was a solemn child, he would no doubt be crying someplace where no one could see. He did that a lot; when someone hurt him or he felt someone was disappointed with him, he would run off to be alone. It wasn't good for him. He needed somebody to talk to, to admit his hurts and pains to.

"Shhh, little one, shhh. You say you could not find Jon?" She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Is there anywhere you didn't check that he might have gone?"

The girl scrunched up her face, thinking hard about it. _If only Arthur were here. _The boy had taken to him better than anyone else besides Wylla and Daenerys. Wylla or Arthur would know what to do, but Wylla was dead and Arthur was off with the other two trying to earn more gold. So the responsibility fell to him. After some seconds, Daenerys said, "I didn't check Wylla's room or Ser Arthur's."

He smiled down at her. "Thank you, Daenerys. Why don't you go get a lemon cake out of the kitchen and find _The Young Dragon._ I'll go speak with Jon." Daenerys ran off, her woes forgotten. She liked to hear stories, and the prospect of being allowed a treat _and_ a story was exciting to her.

Groaning softly, Willem stood and began walking to the stairs. It was a slow process; the sickness and his age made moving around difficult. The others had taken to doing things that required a lot of movement, while Willem mostly remained sitting and in bed. He hated it, the feeling of being useless. He was a knight, the former master-at-arms of King's Landing. If he could choose how he would die, it would be with a sword in his hand. But it was not to be.

He would check Arthur's room first, as it was closer and, he thought, more likely to be hiding the boy. When he entered, he was disappointed to find it empty of any person. He didn't have to peek under the bed for the boy or search anywhere else in the room. Arthur had few possessions, and the ones he did have were kept neat and orderly. Sighing, he left to go to Wylla's room.

The door was open, though only a crack. No one had any reason to enter the room since Wylla's death, but he supposed he could understand why Jon would want to cry alone in here. Wylla was like a mother and he could always go to her when he was upset. Now she was gone and he had no one. As he entered, he noted three things: first, nearly the entire room was empty; second, Jon was sitting by the window, looking outside and into the city; third, there was a huge bruise on his cheek.

The boy whipped his head around and stared at Ser Darry in fear. _Why would he do that? He's known me for years. What reason would he have to be afraid? _Slowly, he entered the room, watching Jon carefully to see what he would do. Jon looked like a cornered animal - cowering, shaking, and very much afraid. Willem put his hands out in a pacifying gesture.

"Jon, boy, what's wrong? What are you doing in here?" He thought he could already guess the answer, but he wanted to hear the boy tell him.

He shrugged his little shoulders and looked down in shame. The fear was still there, though it seemed to have dissipated some. "Just . . . I just wanted to be alone," he said in his small, child's voice. "I'll leave if you like, Ser."

"No, no, child. It's alright to be in here. Why do you want to be alone? Surely Dany would like your company?" He had reached the boy now, and grasped his shoulders. The boy still wouldn't meet his eyes.

Instead of answering him like he expected - telling him that Viserys had been cruel and mean - he asked, "Is it true, Ser Willem?"

"Is what true, Jon?"

"Did I do this? Viserys said I started the war, that we're running away because of me. Are we?" The way he looked at him, like his entire world depended on his answer, broke his heart. Here was a boy that was barely five and already he was having to shoulder blame he did not deserve. He did not even know he was a king yet, not really. Jon was a child, he wouldn't understand it. They planned to tell him when he was older.

He sighed. "It's more complicated than that. There are a lot of reasons why-"

"But did I do it?" the boy interrupted him.

"No. Rhaegar, your father, did. But you had nothing to do with it. You weren't even born until the war ended," he added. The boy's expression had changed, and there was a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, my boy. Really. Don't listen to anything Viserys has to say. He doesn't know about anything he talks about." Offering the boy his hand, Willem led him out of the room and downstairs, to join Daenerys in reading _The Young Dragon._

* * *

><p>Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne. Brother of Prince Doran Martell and Princess Elia. To say Willem had been surprised to see him here was an understatement; he'd almost run him through with his sword when he saw Oswell enter with him. From what Oswell had told him, they had been out by the market and he'd turned his back on the children for a second to speak with a merchant. When he looked back, they were being entertained by five men who were very obviously Dornish. Now here they were, he, Arthur, Gerold, and Oswell sitting across a table from Oberyn and his companions.<p>

"Why are you here?" Willem asked them. The better question would be _how _were they here. But he didn't ask that, because he needed to know if they were dealing with a friend or foe.

"I invited them." Shocked, Willem and the two other Kingsguard stared at Gerold.

"You would compromise everything, to invite a potential enemy-" Gerold interrupted Oswell.

"I invited a potential ally. And we will discuss this later. Prince Oberyn," he said, nodding to where he sat.

"Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys take after their mother, Daenaerys especially," the Viper commented. Arthur grunted in reply. "And Prince Jon looks . . . very much like his mother, as well."

"_King _Jon, you mean," Ser Gerold corrected him.

"Yes, King Jon, although he is a little young to be a king, wouldn't you agree?" There was a hard edge to Oberyn's voice when he spoke of Jon, one undoubtedly that had to do with the fate of his sister. He probably hated the child for living, where Elia and her children had not.

"Enough, Oberyn. Why are you here?" Arthur and Oberyn Martell had been friends, Willem knew that. How could they not? Their sisters had been best friends, almost sisters, and they were both Dornish. But there was a tension between the two, brought on by their difference of opinions.

"Ah, Arthur. Nice to see you, too, old friend. But, if it's business you want, it's business will shall have. I come offering Dorne's aid when you return to Westeros." Immediately, the four men were suspicious. Maybe Dorne would offer support for Daenerys and Viserys, as they were Rhaegar's siblings, but for Jon? Elia was the one who supported Lyanna, but now that she was dead, Dorne had no reason to offer them anything. It seemed strange in either case, though none of them were throwing the opportunity away. There would be a price, they knew.

Willem was the one who brought this to everyone's attention. "What do you ask for in return?" Oberyn smiled at him, a smile that was both friendly and hostile at the same time.

"My brother asks that his daughter, Arianne, be betrothed to either Viserys or Jon Targaryen."

They knew before any of them looked at each other, before any of them said anything, that it could not be Jon. Dorne would be useful in their war, but Jon was a king. He could not just be given to the first contender. They would have to wait and see. And besides, Jon was five. It wouldn't be a kind thing to have him betrothed so early in his life. "Viserys," Willem said. There were silent nods of agreement from the other three.

"Very well. It would be better that way, too, I would guess. I doubt my niece would be very happy married to the man that was the reason her aunt was murdered."

Arthur's hands were balled into fists. "Jon is not to blame for any of that. It was Rhaegar's fault, you know that. Elia helped Lyanna, saw that she had an ally in her time of need. She understood. Why can't you?" he growled. His eyes blazed with anger. And of course he would be angry. Arthur loved Jon dearly and had known Lyanna better than any of them. Any insult to the boy or his mother was an insult to him as well.

"I understand my sister is dead because Rhaegar was in love with the Stark girl. I know that my sister and both her children are dead while that boy lives on!" There it was; Oberyn's long concealed anger had spilled over. Oberyn's point of view was narrow-minded and he obviously did not know everything that had occurred. He thought it was because Rhaegar was disloyal that this war had come and Elia was dead. When Arthur slammed his fist on the table, Willem knew that the Sword of the Morning would not suffer through this any longer.

"What do you know? What do you know?" he repeated, voice raised in rage. "I served in the Kingsguard. I was with Rhaegar all the time. He was my friend! And do you know what? He was mad! He was mad just like his father. His prophecy was all he cared for. He thought that he was invincible, that whatever happened, he would come out the victor and everything would fall into place. That is why he kidnapped Lyanna! Maybe she had loved him at first, but she realized his intentions. And it shames me to know that I helped him. So do not speak to me about what you understand and what you know. You know nothing!" He roared the final statement, face flushed from the outburst.

The two men glared at one another until Gerold saw fit to break up their little fight. "Enough, you two. We have plenty of years to settle our differences. What do we need to make this official?" His question was directed at Oberyn.

"We'll sign pact that promises Viserys will marry Arianne in exchange for Dorne's support in the war. I want someone else present, though."

Gerold nodded. "Yes, I thought you might. I've taken the liberty of inviting the Sealord of Braavos to act as witness. Oswell, will you bring him in?"

The Kingsguard stood up from where he sat, and walked over to the door. He opened it, a few words were exchanged in Braavosi, and Oswell returned with another man in tow. This newcomer wore fabrics of dark blue and purple. His black hair was loose about his shoulders. He was nearly as old as Gerold, though not nearly as strong or fit. His face was solemn and serious, and he watched the others in silence.

One of the other Dornishmen brought forth a parchment. Some words were written on it, then he handed it to Oberyn. Oberyn signed his name and pressed the seal of House Martell into the paper. It was passed to the three Kingsguard and Ser Willem. He was the one who placed the seal of House Taragaryen and House Darry beside their names. The Sealord of Braavos said nothing, just watched everything take place.

When it was all done and over, Oberyn flashed them a smile. He looked over the pact once before he rolled it up and gave it to one of his companions.

"Very good. I hope to see you all again someday. Until then, good luck, and goodbye." As suddenly as he had appeared, the Red Viper was gone.

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><p>"He comes to us, offering the <em>future <em>support of Dorne, then leaves us with nothing! Damn him!" Gerold snarled harshly. Willem said nothing. They were all rather upset about the confrontation. Oberyn took much and left nothing. It had not gone as well as Gerold had hoped it would.

"Never do that again, Gerold," Oswell said in a quiet voice. His tone was low and dangerous. "Never go behind our backs like that again. Understand?"

"I do, brother. I do." His face was grim, eyes upset and sad at the same time. The Sealord had left after Oberyn had, saying little to any of them. Whether they could truly trust that man, only time would tell.

Willem sighed in resignation. That was why he had been a master-at-arms. He was no good with politics and negotiating and agreements. Give him a sword and tell him to hack at another man, he knows what to do. Give him a parchment and tell him to negotiate with a lord, he'll stare at you as if you've grown wings. He was no good with words and gifts, only with weapons and armor.

"Well, what can you expect? They'll think it's enough to have shown up at all. We can't ask anymore of them," Arthur put in, a calm expression on his face. That was Ser Arthur; it took a lot to worry him. "This is all that we'll be given by the Dornish."

"Still," Gerold grumbled, "he could have done more."

"Come now. We know that's not the real reason why they won't help us." They turned to Oswell, a question on each of their faces. In explanation, he said, "Jon."

"You know," Arthur began, a half-smile on his face, "Dorne claims to be so much more accepting of everything. They say that there is no reason for men to be blamed for the mistakes of their fathers. Bastards, especially. And yet, here they are, practically refusing to help because we name Jon our king. Ironic, isn't it?"

The others grunted in agreement. Gerold opened his mouth to say something, but before he got the chance, a small voice asked, "Jon's a king?" They all turned around. There stood Daenerys, a reluctant Jon holding her hand beside her. As soon as he saw the two children, Gerold's face softened.

"Come here, children." They did as they were told, with Jon still lagging behind his aunt. He had on a guilty look, as if he'd heard something he wasn't supposed to. Willem laughed silently. Of course the boy would think of overhearing that as a crime. "Aren't you two supposed to be in bed?"

"You said Jon was your king. Is he really?" Daenerys asked, ignoring Gerold's question, her eyes wide with childish wonder. Gerold chuckled, nodding his head slowly.

"Yes, dear Daenerys. Jon is a king. And you are really a princess." He tapped the tip of her nose, and she giggled.

"What about Viserys? Isn't he the king? He's older than me," Jon murmured quietly. Gerold and Arthur exchanged a look, with Arthur rolling his eyes in exasperation. Viserys had been telling stories, it appeared.

"No, Viserys isn't king," Willem began, kneeling down beside the two children. They faced him, confused. "He may be older but that's not how succession works. Rhaegar was his father's first son. Viserys was his second. So that means Rhaegar was supposed to be king."

"But he died," Daenerys interrupted. Willem nodded solemnly.

"Yes. So that means that his sons will be kings before Viserys. Now, when the war ended and we escaped, your mother and I really did think that Viserys was the king. Rhaegar had two children. Rhaenys, his daughter, and Aegon, a baby."

"But Rhaenys was older. Shouldn't she be queen?" Daenerys was full of questions.

"Boys are always heirs first. If there are none, then a girl will be heir." It wasn't exactly true, but it would do for now. They would understand later. "But Aegon and Rhaenys died too. Because we thought Rhaegar had no more children, Viserys was next in line."

"What happened?"

"Then Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell found us and brought Rhaegar's last son, Jon. That makes Jon a king, you a princess, and Viserys a prince." It was a lot to take in, and they may not understand it. But both of them were nodding their heads.

"So," Jon began, "Viserys is my heir."

The men laughed. The boy was truly Rhaegar's son if he could follow all of that and figure it out. "Yes, boy, he is." To their surprise, Jon frowned. His lips formed a little pout.

"But I don't want Viserys to be my heir! I want Dany to be." And he hugged her, as if to signify his point.

"Viserys is your heir, because he's a boy. Don't worry, Dany comes after him," Ser Arthur promised, mussing Jon's hair a bit.

Then Jon said, "You said I'm the king. So I will make Dany my heir. Viserys will come after her."

Daenerys turned to him, surprise lighting her face. "Really Jon?"

He nodded, looking serious for all of his five years. "Yes. I'll make you a queen. You'll be _my_ queen."

Willem laughed with the others, though a lump had formed in his throat. The Targaryen tradition of marrying brother to sister had brought the madness down upon them. Daenerys may be Jon's aunt, but they were still kin. They'd hoped to put on end to that cursed tradition. However, if Jon was truly set on making Daenerys his wife, there was very little they could hope to do about it.

He shook his head. No, Jon wasn't promising to marry his aunt. He was making a child's promise to let Daenerys be a queen. Within a few years, they would forget about it. There was nothing to be feared. Besides, he would be sure that they learned that incest was wrong. The tradition would end with Aerys and the Targaryen line would finally be cleansed.


End file.
